FFLYLYLLIFEIFE^1515M
ore than two decades ago
Frances and I invited a dear
friend of ours, Bronwyn, on
a short overnight bushwalk
to O’Dells Lake in Tasmania’s
Nineteen Lagoons. Frances’s
brother Stephen happened to be
visiting us, and he came along too.
That night under a dark, cloudless
sky, we were witness to the best
aurora that any of us has ever seen,
and I like to think that it helped
transform an easy friendship between
Bronwyn and Stephen into something
much deeper. Their daughter Zoe is
now 17 and their son Connor is 14.
Recently Connor sent me a beauti-
fully tied nymph. “I just joined my
school’s fly fishing club. What do you
think?” It was the first time he had
given any indication that he had more
than a casual interest in angling.
His Christmas present to me had
been a zip-lock bag of ‘bellybutton
fluff’, though it looked suspiciously
like the stuff you’d scrape from a
washing machine filter. In any case Isent a text saying that I would now tie
him a fly, and that I’d make it from an
unguessable material. He and Zoe had
fun guessing the unguessable. Among
their suggestions were the said belly-
button fluff, steel wool, milk carton,
Christmas tinsel and old man’s chest
hair. Anyhow, the finished patterns
looked great in their display case.
Frances and I flew from Tassie up to
Gladesville (Sydney) and presented the
gift in person. Naturally I took the time
to give the kids some casting lessons
in the local park, and at the end of the
day they could lay out 5–10 metres of
line with admirable accuracy.
“Now we need to go on an actual
fishing trip,” Connor insisted cheekily.
“How about Kosciuszko?” Bronwyn
said. “A friend of mine owns a part-
share of a small ski ‘lodge’ at Perisher.
We’ll have no trouble booking spaceGreg French leads a new generation astray.
Kosciuszko Kids
Connor selects a fly at Club Creek.AT CARRUTHERS PEAK WE LEFT THE TRACK AND
GINGERLY MADE OUR WAY DOWNHILL TO CLUB LAKE.
Club Lake from the spine of the Great Dividing Range.